A half mile down the beach some old fishermen have their poles stuck deep in the bright white sand, and Sarah has a fleeting thought of using such a pole to practice her pole dancing, knowing immediately that these rods are not nearly substantial enough, though surely just the idea, to say nothing of any effort, would delight the fishermen. As it is, she’s wearing the flimsiest beach garment, and the men’s eyes all but light up as she strolls past.

Now, though, she’s well away, walking a deserted stretch of sand, nothing around but the waves and the sky and a few soaring seabirds. She lifts off her gauzy robe and lets the wind catch it, holding on as it flutters and lifts. Wouldn’t it be grand if somehow she could become airborne? She twirls and whirls, breathing the gusty, sun-softened air.

On the way back, she smiles at the fishermen. “Catch anything?” she asks one of them, her eyes twinkling, observing the effect her near-nakedness has. He opens his chest and lifts out a sleek, two-foot-long fish. “A beauty,” Sarah says.

“You too,” the man replies.

That night in her dream Sarah relived meeting the old fisherman on the beach. At first it went exactly as before. “Did you catch anything?” she asked. The fisherman lifted the lid of his cooler and withdrew a sizable fish. The fisherman was wearing silver swimming trunks the same color as the fish he held before her. “It’s a beauty,” Sarah managed to say, even as she realized that the fish resembled nothing so much as a very large phallus. And when she glanced at the fisherman’s swimming shorts, his very large phallus was immediately evident. “Would you like to hold him?” The fisherman asked. Sarah was helpless to refuse. The fish felt warm and sleek in her hands, like nothing so much as an erect cock. She knew that the fisherman was going to fuck her, right there on the beach, with his fish in her hands. She knew she was going to come. She awoke at the first overwhelming jolts of her orgasm.

Sarah soon settled back to sleep. Hours later she awoke again, the strange and strongly erotic dream gradually filtering into her consciousness. She shook her head, trying to clear it, not that she was sure she wanted to. “Enough of this,” she said, and she hopped out of bed and off to the bathroom. After a good long morning pee, she stepped into the shower. Steam billowed up. As she smoothed the lather over her skin, the fisherman crept again into her consciousness, and now it was his rough fingers making insistent circles upon her skin, pinching her nipples, easing down her belly, slipping between her legs.